


Our Path Together

by TheKats



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Characters to be added, Kid!Lock, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Uni!lock, and whatever other stages I will discuss, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKats/pseuds/TheKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving to a different city, Sherlock enters a new elementary school. With his expensive bag and shoes and elitist pale skin, he becomes the immediate target of his middle-class fellow pupils, who would all like to let him know he didn't belong here. All but one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "The rich kid" - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Nice to see I've caught your attention :) I had this idea quite randomly and spontaneously, but I found it very endearing and multiple scenarios painted pictures in my head of John and Sherlock meeting at a young age and growing up together.  
> Updates will come whenever they're ready ;)
> 
> This will NOT be a Johnlock fic! Although they are my OTP, I have decided to keep this story clean and innocent, best friends going through the stages of life together. If you ever want a kid!Lock Johnlock fic (or maybe even a Johnlock version of this story), you just let me know and I'll take your request to heart.  
> Any requests in general - anywhere along the way - just pass them on to me in the comments or in a pm, however you wish to do it. I will happily take them :)
> 
> But for now: Have a prologue, everybody! ^^

He had something very intriguing about him, the thin brunet standing in the front of the class, his voice soft, but his eyes cold and calculating, analysing, judging. Sherlock Homes, apparently.  
After the short introduction by their teacher, the boy, who was just a tad smaller than John himself, grabbed his leather bag and walked down the aisle of tables, sitting down at the free desk two rows behind and one aisle to the right of John. It was the only free desk anyway. John turned to keep his gaze on him, just like the others did – what was one more pair of eyes then, really. The cue to turn back around he had apparently missed as he waited for icy blue eyes to meet his own curious ones and when they did, he couldn't help but smile kindly. “Hi!” he whispered. “I'm John.”  
  
“Sherlock.” the boy replied.  
  
John giggled, “I know,” and a mild blush spread on his unusually prominent cheekbones upon realising.  
  
“John Watson!” the voice of their teacher rang, exhorting him.  
  
He turned around with an apologetic look. “I'm sorry.” He waited for her to turn to the blackboard to shoot a quick “in the break, yeah?” at Sherlock, not waiting for a reply before directing his attention to the woman in the front talking about multiplications.  
When the bell finally announced the beginning of their break, John quickly sorted through his bag and then stood up, turning to flash an expectant smile at the new boy only to see he'd already gone outside, as it seemed. John pouted a little, disappointed Sherlock seemed so disinterested in getting to know him. Or maybe he'd just forgotten! There was a lot of new in this environment for someone who'd just moved here. Holding that thought dearly, John made his way out, most of the other pupils having rushed out already, the mostly empty halls. Outside, the blond looked around, searching for the new boy.  
  
*  
  
Sherlock didn't really get what these boys wanted from him, he was new, he hadn't done anything yet!  
Still, three of them watched, grinned and nodded while the fourth nicked his bag. “So, new one, you've got a nice bag here.. what is that, leather? Must've been expensive!”  
  
“G-give it b-back!”  
  
“Why? Your mummy can buy you a new one anytime, can't she, rich kid?”  
  
“P-please!”  
  
“Wait, do you have a stutter?! Oh, my god! The rich kid has a stutter!” he barked out in laughter and his friends joined in.  
  
“Well, your f-f-father cheats on-n y-your m-m-m-mother and p-pays off your s-si-sister t-to n-n-n-not t-tell her!” Sherlock fought out with a sudden burning rage, realising a little too late.  
  
The taller boy's laughter had died out and his eyes were lit with fire as he stared down on him. “You better run. You better run fast, 'cause I'm counting to 'three'! One...” the boy started and Sherlock, after a moment of shock, spun around, falling into a sprint as fast as his short legs could take him.  
  
*

 

Turning a corner, the first thing John saw was a small figure running impressively quick, followed by a considerably larger figure. Next thing he noticed: The small one was Sherlock.

John himself started to run immediately, dropping his bag, tackling down the boy he realised was Sebastian Wilkes. On the ground, Sebastian pushed him away and they ended up rolling around, either one trying to get the upper hand.

A couple of minutes later, they had attracted the attention of a teacher, who dived between the two of them, shoving them apart and dragging them away from the crowd of cheering children.

They found themselves in front of the headmaster's office, waiting for the teacher to infrom about what he had seen, so they could tell their own stories. John plucked at the stain of grassy green on his baggy trousers.  
  
An hour later, John sat in class again, pupils staring at him as he arrived late.  
  
*  
  
Sherlock had turned around at the sound of a body thudding to the ground. He saw the tall boy being efficiently held down by that other boy from his new class, John. He thought about taking his chance and running away, but his brother's voice told him not to be a sissy, so he stood there, watching, not knowing what to do. He wasn't strong. He was quick on his feet, yes, but small, thin and weak, he wouldn't stand a chance. Anyway, risking himself to get hurt in this fight would only make John's efforts to help him meaningless and he did seem capable of dealing with this tall kid.  
When he'd talked to him in class, Sherlock thought John was just trying to trap him so he and his friends could make fun of the brunet, but apparently John Watson was more than one might think. Here he was, fighting for a boy he didn't even know, a boy who ran away.  
He only realised people were gathering around them when a young female teacher dragged him away and straight to the headmaster, where he sat opposite them, being asked questions.  
  
“Can you tell us what happened, Sherlock? You were the first to be seen next to John Watson and Sebastian Wilkes, the boys who were fighting. Did you have anything to do with that? Did either of them try attacking you? Did the other try to help you?”  
  
He wanted to nod, say how Sebastian had bullied him and then chased him; how John had come to his rescue, wrestling the taller boy, ruining his clothes knowing his parents would be mad. And how he had just stood there.  
He shook his head.  
  
“Is there nothing you can tell us?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“Do you just not want to tell us?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“Did you do anything yourself, Sherlock?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“Were you threatened not to tell?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
The headmaster sighed, frustrated. “Alright, you can go. Try to stay out of trouble, will you?”  
  
He nodded and was shown out through a second door in the office.  
  
*  
  
Sherlock was sitting on a bench, nose buried in a book while all the other children played and laughed and shouted joyfully. John walked up to him, slumping down beside him. “You okay?” he asked a little grumpily.  
  
Sherlock looked up as if torn out of a deep thought. “Oh, y-yes. M-m-my bag i-is ru-ruined, though...” he stammered, holding up his bag, showing John the torn strap and seams.  
  
John regarded him for a moment. “Pity. I'm fine, by the way, thank you for asking.”  
  
“Oh.. Excuse m-my m-m-manners... Th-th-th-... I am v-v-very g-g-...” Sherlock averted his gaze, obviously ashamed of his stutter although he tried to hide it.  
  
“Why did they do that?” John questioned, diverting attention from his obvious discomfort.  
  
Sherlock would have none of that. He knew what people thought when talking to him, even if they pretended not to. “Oh, why d-d-don't y-you j-just go a-head and l-l-l-laugh at m-me?!” he demanded snappily.  
  
John cocked his head, frowning. “Why? Because you have a stutter? That's not your fault! Is that why they did this?“ he ended on an angry note. He couldn't stand bullying, much less on such a basis.  
  
The other boy shook his head. “I-I t-told the-em about th-the af-f-fair of the b-b-boys f-father...“  
  
“'Told them'?! How did _you_ know about that?“  
  
“I didn-n't _kn-know_ , I _s-saw_.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“W-Well,  his  b-bag  is  g-g-gender-neut-tral  and  at  l-l-least  f-five  years  o-ld.  H-he  h-h-has  an  old-older  sib-bling,  b-but  n-n-not  a  b-brother,  or  th-the  bag  w-would  be  b-b-boyish.  B-but  it's  a-al-also  not  g-girly,  s-so  th-the  p-p-p-parents  m-m-must  have  kn-known  th-th-they'd  s-soon  b-be  se-sending  a  b-boy  to  s-school  wh-when  their  d-daughter  g-g-graduated  f-from  prim-ary.  S-since  m-most  g-get  int-into  sch-school  at  age  f-five,  h-he  i-i-is  likely  to  b-be  born  th-the  year  sh-she  g-got  into  f-f-first  g-grade.  H-he  got  h-h-her  b-bag  wh-when  sh-she  g-graduat-ed  a-and  g-got  in  a-at  age  s-s-s-six.  
S-so,  sa-ving  m-money  o-on  th-that  p-part.  
O-on  th-the  o-ther  hand  h-he  is  c-carry-ing  sw-sweets  with  h-him.  M-money-s-saving  p-parents  would-dn't  g-give  th-their  ch-child  som-m-ething  l-like  th-that  to  e-eat  at  sch-sch-school;  a  l-l-loving  s-sib-ling  would.  B-but  how  d-does  h-his  f-f-fourteen  y-year  old  si-sister  g-get  th-th-the  mon-ey  t-to  b-buy  h-him  th-these,  i-if  the  p-parents  d-don't?  
She  is-s  too  y-young  t-to  work  h-herself,  s-so  s-s-somebody  m-must  g-give  i-it  t-to  her.  
Th-the  f-father  is-n't  home  m-most  e-e-evenings,  i-if  not  days,  v-visible  in  th-the  lack  o-of  a  good  r-role  m-m-model  of  a-a  father.  
H-he's  a-away,  but  n-not  f-for  bussin-n-ness  or  e-else,  h-he'd  h-h-have enough  m-money  t-t-to  b-buy  his  s-son  a  n-n-new  b-bag.  Th-the  sister  c-can  b-b-buy  sweets,  th-though.  
He  p-p-pays  off  h-her  s-s-silence.  
Easy.” Sherlock finished, breathing deeply and still not looking at John. He felt so ashamed of this idiotic stutter – the words were in his head, clear and unproblematic, his brain rattling on, building sentence after sentence, but stopped by his mouth's incapability to actually say any of it properly. He didn't understand why his mouth did that.  
  
When he finally looked at John, he expected to find him giving him 'the look'; the one they all gave him; the one that said 'FREAK' more clearly than anything else.  
John didn't give him that look. He looked... fascinated. “That... was amazing!”  
  
A tiny bit inside Sherlock cracked. It was a good feeling, as if his heart had been relieved of a tight constriction. “Y-you th-th-think so?”  
  
“Of course! That was _so_ clever! You're _really_ clever!”  
  
“That's n-not what pe-pe-people usual-l-ly say..”  
  
“What do people say?”  
  
“... Rude th-things..”  
  
“That's not nice!”  
  
He shook his head. “Th-the head-head-master?”  
  
“He called my parents. They will have to come in for a talk. Again.” Sherlock looked at him in question. “It's not exactly the first time I got in trouble..”  
  
“F-for o-o-others?”  
  
“Twice, yes, friends who took it too far with others. But not mainly..”  
  
“Y-your sister.”  
  
“How did-... yes. She's two years older than me.. I don't like her, but.. she's my sister!”  
  
Sherlock nodded even though he didn't understand. That kind of sibling compassion wasn't really known to him and his brothers. But his small, lonely heart swelled a little as he thought over and over, that he was one of three people, outside John's family and the only one he didn't really know at all, that the boy had fought and gotten in trouble for.


	2. "The brave adventures of Captain Sherlock Holmes"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, there!   
> So, yeah, here's the second chapter and it's too bloody hot around here to think properly, which is why I can't come up with either a fitting summary or proper notes..
> 
> Leave comments, return mistakes - you know the stuff! :D
> 
> Oh, yes, hang on! I wanted to tell you that, despite my usual rule of at least 7 OpenOffice pages per chapter, this story will continue to be free in that form and especially the chapters about their younger years will remain a little shorter. I hope that's no problem to you^^
> 
> Have fun! ♥

“D-Do you w-w-want s-so-something to d-drink?” Sherlock asked John as the boy sat down on the floor in his room.

 

“Yes, please! Some water would be great!” John answered enthusiastically, grinning widely.

 

“J-Just wa-ter? We h-have tea or j-juices..” the brunet offered, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No, that's fine, thanks.” he answered with another bright smile.

 

Sherlock looked at him for another second before turning around to get them glasses and water. In the kitchen he bumped into Mycroft – of course, where else would he be. “Mycroft, g-give me t-t-t-two glasses, pl-please.” he requested, pointing at the hanging cupboard while he went to retrieve a bottle from the fridge.

 

“Two? Are you experimenting again, Sherlock? You know mummy doesn't like it when you use her stuff – you always ruin it.” Mycroft tutted, but not hesitating a moment to reach up and fish out the requested item.

 

“Actual-ly,” Sherlock started, chin up high in arrogant pride, “I ha-have a visit-tor. A _friend_.” he added, puffing up his small frame in front of his older brother.

 

Mycroft's frown was deep, spurring on Sherlock's great pride. “ _You_ have a  _ friend _ ?” For once, Mycroft didn't care to hide his irritation.

 

“Yes, h-his n-name is J-John W-W-Watson and he s-s-saved me when I w-w-was bul-lied yes-yesterday an-nd he stands up for-for me when-n s-some-someone's being r-r-rude _and_ he's sp-p-pending time with-th- me, n-not minding any-o-one to s-see us!” The small boy said, rubbing Mycroft's nose in it as best as he could.

 

“You do remember what happened last time?”  
  


“Th-this is d-d-dif-f-f-ferent! J-John is d-different!!”  
  
“Sherlock, you are so stupid.. people are _all_ the same, you can't trust them! They'll only leave you alone in the end.”

 

“I-I'm n-n-not st-tupid and J-J-John isn't l-l-like that!” Sherlock shouted back at Mycroft running from the kitchen with the glasses and the water. When he closed the door to his room, he let himself slump down besides John unceremoniously, pouting.

 

“What's wrong?”

 

“Mycroft s-s-aid I'm-m stupid.”

 

“Your brother? But how can he say that? You're clever!”

 

“N-No, co-compared to h-h-him, I'm s-stupid.”  
  
“Then I'm an idiot.”

 

“Y-you're n-n-not an id-idiot!”

  
“If you're stupid, then I'm an idiot!”

 

For a moment, Sherlock's thankful, shy smile weighed on John heavily, before he was asked: “D-Do you w-w-want to play p-p-pirates in the gar-arden?”

 

The bright shimmer in the brunets eyes made it impossible for John to say no, even if he had wanted to do so. “Sure!” he piped, rushing after Sherlock who dashed for a large glass front, shouting “Redbeard!” as he pushed open the big door that led from living room into garden.  
There was a smallish climbing frame with a slide and swings and a pole and everything and John stopped dead in his tracks.  _ That _ was not what he had expected Sherlock meant with playing pirates. “Uhm, Sherlock.. Are your parents, er, rich?”

 

Sherlock stopped and turned to look at John. “Ah... y-yes. I-is that a p-pr-problem?”

 

“What? No! I was just.. wondering..” he replied, continuing to eye the object of interest. Meanwhile, Sherlock resumed running around the big garden, shouting “Redbeard” until an adorable small dog came sprinting towards him”You've got a _dog_?! He's so sweet!” the blond boy exclaimed, leaning forward to let the pet sniff at his hand. “Good doooog!” he cooed, ruffling his head when he accepted John as a playmate.

 

John didn't remember the last time he'd had such fun, but running around, seeing Sherlock's eyes glitter as they fought with his wooden swords was the most beautiful and enticing thing he'd ever seen and it made him swear to himself, that he would see that look many more times in the future and if he was the one to put it there, he would.

 

How he then dreaded that moment it was replaced by pain and tears. Sherlock yelled in painful surprise and flopped down backwards, swatting at his foot and then pressing on it, whimpering. “Sherlock!” John shouted, falling to the ground in front of him. It was then that he saw the cause of pain sticking out grimly from in between his naked toes. “Hold still, Sherlock, give me your foot!” he instructed, but Sherlock instead, set to get his hands on the bees stinger himself. “No! Stop, wait! Give it here!” he now demanded, batting the other's hands away and, reluctantly, Sherlock followed, taking his hands off and stretching out his leg until his foot lay in John's lap. Redbeard stuck out his snout to lap at the wound, but John held him back, patting his head. The young boy pushed at the area, causing Sherlock to jump and yank at the tight grip around his ankle. “You have to be careful with these. Unlike a wasp, a bee can't pull it's stinger back out and you need to do it yourself. But caaaarefully..” he explained, drawing out the word while pulling at the now almost free stinger. “See?” he asked, holding it up for Sherlock to see, “the sack with the poison is still attached, just pulling at the thing would have shot the poison right into your body. Come on now, if we put a slice of onion on it, it won't hurt as badly.” he said, standing up and holding his hands out to pull Sherlock to his feet. He slung one arm around the smaller boy's back so he could hop on his good foot.

 

“Wh-what about the b-bee? If th-the sting-er is p-p-pulled out...”

 

“It dies...” John answered sadly, keeping his eyes on the ground to avoid any more bee-incidents.  
  
“H-How do y-y-you know s-so m-m-much about b-bees?”  
  
“I got stung, too, some weeks ago.. My mum treated it and I watched.” Sherlock threw him an intrigued look, his eyes running up and down the older boy, who carefully navigated them around patches of flowers and clover. “Mrs. Homes, do you have an onion to spare?” John asked as they entered the kitchen.

 

The woman turned around, her face immediately flooded with concern as she saw her youngest son leaning onto John. “What happened?” she shrieked, kneeling down in front of him, taking his lifted foot in hand to look at it.

 

“B-b-bee...” Sherlock stuttered.

 

“Oh, my poor boy! Did you pull out the stinger?”

 

“J-john did.”

 

She took a quick look to see if there was a bit still in there, but it looked clean. “Thank you, John! That was really kind of you!”

 

John blushed a little. Receiving praise wasn't exactly something he was used to. “It's nothing really.” he muttered when the woman guided her son to sit on a chair and then moved to cut an onion, placing a slice against the sting and fixing it there by binding a tea towel around his toes.

 

“There you go, love.” Mummy said, petting Sherlock' cheek. “This will take some days to heal, but the onion will make the itch more bearable. Just stick with John, it seems he knows a thing or two and he obviously is a very kind young man.” She smiled at John brightly and he automatically grinned back, holding his hands out for Sherlock to help him get up and move around.

 

Back in his room, Sherlock sat down in his chair. “You should keep that foot lifted, so the blood doesn't rush through there and spread the poison much.” John advised, looking around and picking up a small pillow from Sherlock's bed. He placed the cushion on the other boy's desk and turned the chair around – thankful for his small and light frame – and carefully lifted the foot up on it.

 

Sherlock watched him, frowning slightly. “W-why a-are you d-d-doing this f-for me?”

 

“Because you're my friend!” John explained, not understanding. “I can't have you die only after meeting you!”

 

“A b-b-bee won't k-kill me, J-John.”

 

The blond's eyes widened. “But they are poisonous and an untreated sting  _ really _ hurts!” he protested and Sherlock stared at him for a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter. 

 

“Not a-all p-p-poisons are l-lethal!” His laughter was rich and comfortable to listen to and John found himself grinning as well.

 

“I don't know what 'lethal' means!” he barked out, laughing as well, which actually made Sherlock double over, hold his stomach and tear up, breaths coming short as the sound forced itself out his throat.

 

“Stop, p-please! It h-h-hurts my bell-lly!”

 

John did stop. He stopped talking because he simply couldn't talk anymore. Neither of them knew what exactly was funny enough to have both their bellies cramping and throats burning, it just was. Like a shared joke only they could understand. It was nice. More than that.

“Sherlock,” John started as their giggles died down into chuckled breaths, “do you want to be my best friend forever?”

 

The brunet boy gaped at him. “M-me?!” he asked incredulously and John nodded. “Of c-course!” Sherlock replied, face lighting up the same way it had done before – the way that made John feel happy all over.

 

*

 

“But you said you wanted to go to a 'normal' school, with 'normal' children.”

 

“I d-didn't ex-p-pect them to b-be _th-that_ stupid! I-I d-don't w-w-want to g-go there anym-more!”

 

“But what about your new friend, John? He seems nice?”

 

“ _B-best_ friend!” Sherlock corrected. “And h-he's i-ill.. He c-c-can't c-come to s-school..”

 

“Oh, but Sherlock, he won't be ill forever! He'll be back in a few days, hm?”

 

Sherlock's response to that was nothing more than a pout and approaching some crying – it usually did the trick with Mummy. And indeed, her expression turned into something very pitying. That was, until Mycroft entered the room. “Don't fall for it, Mummy, he's acting again.” the older brother said monotonously. Promptly Sherlock was shooting him an angry look, which Mycroft returned challengingly.

 

“Nice try, young man! Up now, or you'll be late for school!”

 

“D-do you alw-ways have to-wo r-r-ruin it for m-me, Mycroft?!” he hissed at his brother as they both went to get ready.

 

“Yes.” the other replied coolly.

 

“It's n-not fair! J-just because I-I'm th-the youngest!”

 

“Bad luck, dear brother. Do give my best to John- oh, wait, you can't – pity.” Mycroft grinned smugly as he dramatically grabbed his back and turned around, making his way to the door.   
  
Pompous arse, Sherlock thought. “C-can I g-go s-see J-J-John after school, Mummy?” Sherlock asked before leaving and then dashed out with a wide grin as his mother nodded.

 

*

 

“H-hello, Mrs. W-Watson. Can I-I see J-J-John?”

 

“Sorry, who are you?”

 

“Sherlock H-Holmes.”

 

“Oh, John's friend! Uh..” she looked back inside as if thinking and at the same time checking something. “Come in, the last room to the left. But don't be too noisy, please!” she urged, ushering Sherlock down the small corridor.

 

Sherlock nodded in gratitude and made his way down there. Remembering his 'good attitude', he knocked on John's door, entering when a raspy “come in” sounded through room and door.

“Sherlock! What are _you_ doing here?” the blond asked, voice in nasal tones. “Are you bringing me homework?” 

 

Sherlock approached him a little hesitantly. “Oh, I-I in-inten-ded to, b-but I g-g-got bored on th-the b-bus ride here, s-so I a-a-already did it f-for b-both of us..” he explained, looking down at the floor.

 

“So, you came here for me? You could give me the material when I return to school.” John frowned.

 

Sherlock looked up, blinking in irritation. “T-that was g-g-good thinking, J-John! But... Of c-course I c-came here for y-you..” God, he felt so stupid. Why would these idiotic words not just come out the way they were meant to?! They were there, in his head, clear and strong and John must've thought him an utter idiot for not even managing his name.   
Posh boy coming from a private school and incapable of talking like a normal person. Of course _Mycroft_ would make fun of him. Of course _everyone else_ would.  
“W-why do you n-n-not laugh at m-me, J-John?” he asked as he set down John's material on the boy's desk – he would have time and concentration to look over it once he was fit again, Sherlock figured.

 

“I told you, Sherlock, I don't mind your stutter. So you need a couple of attempts to get a sentence out – so what? You're so smart, I don't think I could follow you if you talked normal pace.” John said and grinned smugly.

 

Sherlock could actually feel his face heat up in a flush. “I-I'm not _that_ s-smart..” he mumbled shyly and to John's simple “yes, you are” he merely replied a half-hearted “W-well, you sh-should have a t-t-talk with m-my b-brother, then.” looking up at his ill friend through his eyelashes. Maybe John would actually be worth the stay.

 

 

It was that glowing expression that John had in mind whenever someone was picking on Sherlock – now was no exception. John puffed himself up in front of Sherlock, who kept telling him to leave it, but the blond would have none of that.

It had been a year now that Sherlock had moved there and still Wilkes wouldn't leave him alone. All they saw in Sherlock was a rich kid, an arrogant snob, someone, who didn't belong there. No one even cared to look further, to see the kind and shy smiles, the brave adventures of Captain Sherlock Holmes, the most intelligent mind John had ever known – the boy had skipped  _ two _ classes! How was that not remarkable?!

But if Sebastian didn't understand it any other way, John would have to scare him off. And so he lunged at the much taller boy, tackling him to the ground like he'd done on Sherlock's first day. And then he punched him.

 

“John!” Sherlock shouted, frozen in shock. “John, st-stop that!” he yelled, grabbing for his arms, trying to pull him back. “John, p-please! You'll onl-ly get in t-trouble!”

 

And indeed, John stopped and got back up again, throwing Sebastian a look that said that he was spared only because Sherlock wanted it. Then, the only thing that could be heard, was the cries of pain as the dark haired boy held his nose, drops of blood rolling out from under his hands, running down his cheeks.

 

“Y-you shouldn't have d-done that, John.” Sherlock whispered to his friend.

 

“He would never have left you alone!” the blond boy shot back.

 

“Yes, and n-now he thinks of m-me as an even w-weaker target..”

 

“I was just trying to help!”

 

“I know...”

 

“Well, he'll never get to you alone, anyway.” John said, a grin beginning to form on his lips. “Not with me around you at all times.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, again!  
> Hope you liked the little exposition :D  
> Typos and grammar mistakes are mine. If you happen to find any of my sweet little babies, please deposit them in the comments so I can take them back home :')  
> And, of course, leave your opinions and criticism down there as well!
> 
> Thank you and good bye - hope to see you again in the next chapter ♥


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